Best 4189 quotes in «military quotes» category

Educators are in the news, too. Usually that’s bad. I had a favorite college professor. He used to tell us, 'If you make CNN as a teacher, you’re probably going to jail.

Ennesby, get the Serial Peacemaker to the beach for dustoff." "Dustoff? You're going to run away from three guys?" "No, I'm going to kill or capture those three guys, and then run away from the Police.

España daba vueltas en círculos desde los días de los Reyes Católicos: guerras, dictaduras, reyes engendrando hijos idiotas con primas, tías y medio hermanas, la Iglesia, el perpetuo anclaje en el pasado, los militares, más guerras, más curas, más incultura...

European historians have often, though not unanimously, assumed that European modern warfare was the one true path, a system that developed logically and inevitably from the nature of the advancing technology of guns. Since Europeans by their own definition were the most rational and logical of people, their mode of warfare was also the most rational and logical. Those who did not adopt it after seeing it were being deliberately irrational, or lacked the ability to advance their polity to the point where it could follow it.

Evan no longer tells people I fight bad guys for a living. When asked, he tells his friends that his dad talks on the phone a lot and vacuums on occasion.

Evan stares at me. I try to hug him. He takes a step back. I pause, my heart in my throat. I’ve got to reach out to him, let myself be vulnerable. I find the courage, but he backs up again. “You can’t go to Iraq anymore.” “I know.” He looks up at Deanna, then back to me. “Did you fight bad guys? You told me you weren’t.” His voice is suspicious, full of accusation. He doesn’t trust me, and I don’t blame him for that. “No, Evan. I didn’t fight bad guys.” I can’t bring myself to tell him the complete truth. I want so desperately to go back into this fight. I miss it every day. I always felt I could change the world with a rifle in my hands and our flag on my shoulder. “Did you get shot?” he looks me over, apparently searching for bullet wounds. I grin a little. “No, Bud, I didn’t get shot.” “People get shot in Iraq.” “Yes, they do.” It strikes me then that Evan for the first time has a grasp on the dangers that are faced over there. He’s six now, and the world is coming into focus for him. “People get shot, Daddy. They die. Bad guys kill them.” I think of Edward Iwan and Sean Sims. “Yeah, I know they do, Evan.

Every book of tactics in the regiment was in use from morning until night, and the officers and non-commissioned officers were always studying the problems presented at the schools.

Everyday US Marines make possible the impossible and then go about their business like it's just the way things are supposed to be.

Every jihadi bride who wants to come home is proof that Islamic State is a failure.

Everyone acted like they knew so much about the war. But none of them really knew anything besides what they had learned through Internet searches or shady half-truths political pundits spouted from the comfort of their news desks. Nothing could ever be flushed out because nobody bothered to ask the troops or look at both sides of the story.

Every Sunday behind bibles, virgins, soldiers tight against me, longing, and my pelvis rubbing gods' to the big black woman voices. Soldiers tight against me, longing, all that rising, sitting, kneeling to the big black woman voices, spirits warming, tensing, folding, then all that rising, sitting, kneeling like some kind of dance, a mating, spirits warming, tensing, folding and god went “Shhhhh” between my thighs –

Every war and conflict that the United States enters has its own ROE [rules of engagement]. Contrary to what most people think, the U.S. military does not have a complete license to kill, even in wartime. We are not a barbaric state, and we do not enter any war with the intention of unilaterally killing anything in our path. We go out of our way to spare civilian lives, to keep those who are not in the war out of it--sometimes even at the expense of risking our own soldiers' safety. We do this by creating strict rules to which our soldies adhere. These rules govern when they can fire, when they cannot; what type of force they can use, what type they cannot; what they can do in particular situations, and what they cannot. The reason for this is that battles can become very confusing very quickly, and a common soldier needs simple rules to guide him, to know when he is or is not allowed to kill--and who is and is not the enemy.

Everything happens for a reason. Everything. The good, the bad, the indifferent. They all have a purpose. Never forget who you are. Never forget what you serve. And no matter what happens, keep your face turned to the light.

For your own security it’s imperative you blend in with the native population.

Evil as existed in all times, and in all places; and in all times and places, those willing to meet evil have also existed. This is the warrant for and the essence of the warrior.

Foreshadowing: Was my challenging Allah to unleash the full weight of his fury upon us, with dark clouds looming in the distance.

For the first time in a decade I felt a voice rising from deep inside my soul. It cried out ‘what will you be today?’ and I heard ‘relentless’ booming from the rafters inside an old gym as Sami and a group of young men chased dreams and trophies while their fathers went to war.

For a guy who wore layers upon layers of armor, his give-a-shit was showing.

For God and country—Geronimo, Geronimo, Geronimo. Geronimo E.K.I.A

Generals, on the average, are far less bellicose than journalists or patriotic housewives: They know the horrors of a war and they dislike any break in the routine

Fuck it,” said Private First Class Chris Barnes, raising his hand. “Let’s do it. This sounds like a great fucking idea. Who wants to get blown up?” They started laughing. Watt, Barker, Cortez, and Private First Class Shane Hoeck all raised their hands. They did not give a damn anymore. It was all so absurd to them, that they were going to drive up and down a road for the next eight hours as bomb magnets. The only thing that they could do was laugh. “Hooray! We’re going out to get blown up!” they sang. “Who’s on board? Hey, who wants to come get blown up? Woohoo! Yeah, dude, I am ready to go fucking die! We are all going to fucking die!

From this war, I am but a shell lodged in a desert's flesh-- bone on bone on bone.

Get a load of this, Frank.” Gerald Peyton’s pause set off his pronouncement. “She is expecting to get a wedding ring.” “That’s understandable,” I said, unsure how he could afford a ring on what our firm cleared. Diamond rings—more sold in December than in any other month of the year—went for a cool grand per karat. Weeks ago, I’d priced them—again—for my domestic situation. “What seems to be the problem?” “That’s a big leap for me to make.” “I expect you’ll make it with room to spare.

Further, any way of life based on the importation of resources is also functionally based on violence, because if your way of life requires the importation of resources, trade will never be sufficiently reliable: if people in the next watershed over won't trade you for some necessary resource, you will take it, because you need it. So, to bring this to the present, we could all become enlightened, and the US military would still have to be huge: how else will they get access to the oil they need to run the economy, oil that just happens to lie under someone else's land? The point is that no matter what we think of the irredeemability of this culture's mass psychology or system of rewards, this culture–civilization–is also irredeemable on a purely functional level.

Got a hardon in my fist, Don't be pissed, Re-enlist-- Snap--to, Slothrop! Jackson, I don't give a fuck, Just give me my "ruptured duck!" Snap--to, Slothrop! No one here can love or comprehend me, They just look for someplace else to send...me... Tap my head and mike my brain, Stick that needle in my vein, Slothrop, snap to!

God created every man to be free. The ability to choose whether to live free or enslaved, right or wrong, happy or in fear is something called freewill. Every man was born with freewill. Some people use it, and some people use any excuse not to. Nobody can turn you into a slave unless you allow them. Nobody can make you afraid of anything, unless you allow them. Nobody can tell you to do something wrong, unless you allow them. God never created you to be a slave, man did. God never created division or set up any borders between brothers, man did. God never told you hurt or kill another, man did. And in the end, when God asks you: "Who told you to kill one of my children?" And you tell him, "My leader." He will then ask you, "And are THEY your GOD?

Go home now,” says I. “Keep away from the saloons. Save your money. You are going to need it.” “What are we going to need it for?” asks a voice from the crowd. “For guns and ammunition,” says I.

God works through people by stirring their hearts and sometimes people never know how they are helping others.

Go to any airport in this country and you’ll see how well our government is dealing with the terrible danger you’re in. TSA staffers are wanding 90-year-old ladies in wheelchairs, and burrowing through their suitcases. Toddlers are on the no-fly list. Lipsticks are confiscated. And it’s all done with the highest seriousness. It’s a show of protection and it stirs the fear pot, giving us over and over an image of being in grave personal peril, needing Big Brother to make sure we’re safe.

Growing up, I always had a soldier mentality. As a kid I wanted to be a soldier, a fighter pilot, a covert agent, professions that require a great deal of bravery and risk and putting oneself in grave danger in order to complete the mission. Even though I did not become all those things, and unless my predisposition, in its youngest years, already had me leaning towards them, the interest that was there still shaped my philosophies. To this day I honor risk and sacrifice for the good of others - my views on life and love are heavily influenced by this.

Her voice trailed off as she watched his tongue trace the outline of his lower lip. It was like watching a wolf taste the thrill of victory before a kill.

Guns neither initiated nor enabled larger changes. Economic, political, and social development preceded and laid the foundation for the invention and use of the gun, not the other way around.

He asks me if I'd ever killed someone and rushes from the kitchen table, but I ask him to stay, to listen. "Collateral Damage," I say, "is the polite way of expressing the death of civilians who unknowingly mingle with the enemy." He's thirteen now, fascinated with video games glamorizing real wars. I rise to leave, and he says, "But Dad, you didn't answer my question." I did.

He'd never met a woman who blushed as much as she did. He didn't know anyone could blush as much as she did. It fascinated him.

He had made a vow to defend his country against all enemies, foreign and domestic. He’d never expected to fight unknown beings that weren’t human.

Hayden McGregor glanced with contempt at the pitch-black road. “I do not fear the darkness. It fears me.” He dismissed the approaching gloom with a narrowed stare. His steel gray eyes holding it back with a contemptuous regard.

He is no ordinary man. He surpasses any man I have met. His heart is so genuine and caring. He has guided, and assisted me through some of my most challenging issues while being here in the desert. His heart is as huge as the universe. He has the ability to make things happen when others has given up on a solution. He is blessed beyond measure with the gift of writing. I am truly honored to be his best friend.

He set down the coffee and placed another log for splitting. Another biting cold wind blew through the trees, and he pulled his red stocking cap down more over his ears, and pulled up the collar of his wool-lined denim jacket. He had neglected to shave for a few weeks now, and was sporting a beard; and his light brown hair was even beginning to grow over his collar. If my old drill instructor from Parris Island could see me now, he’d kick my ass across the barracks, Jeff mused.

He thought it disproportionate in its violence considering the fragility of us.

He would only be here one more night. And then back on deployment, whispered the dark part of my soul. He might never come back. You might be the last woman he ever has.

He who is ready to die for his country is a fool. For he didn’t choose where he was born; and where he was born didn’t choose him.

His mother was as frosty as the polar icecaps. His sister was gone. Who did he have that cared about him? Who would remind him that he mattered?

His lips caressed her ear. “Best dance of my entire life.

Honestly, I had no idea how to respond. My senior year of college I’d taken a seminar titled Public Education: Situations and Strategies. I thought about emailing my professor, maybe suggest some new topics and help him get current. Maybe he’d invite me back as a guest lecturer. He’d probably expect some strategies along with the situations though, so I guess that wouldn’t work, but whatever.

Honey, it isn’t democracy that runs this country. Capitalism rules. It does no good to reason with the capitalists or their politicians. This is a class war. We have to stir up the American people, the lower class. Some of the better-off lower class do show some sympathy for us when they’re smacked with the facts. And when they voice themselves collectively, good things happen.” — Mother Jones

I absolutely hate the way the United States glorifies its military and its wars. Real heroes fight for peace.

HYPERAROUSAL After a traumatic experience, the human system of self-preservation seems to go onto permanent alert, as if the danger might return at any moment. Physiological arousal continues unabated. In this state of hyerarousal, which is the first cardinal symptom of post-traumatic stress disorder, the traumatized person startles easily, reacts irritably to small provocations, and sleeps poorly. Kardiner propsed that "the nucleus of the [traumatic] neurosis is physioneurosis."8 He believed that many of the symptoms observed in combat veterans of the First World War-startle reactions, hyperalertness, vigilance for the return of danger, nightmares, and psychosomatic complaints-could be understood as resulting from chronic arousal of the autonomic nervous system. He also interpreted the irritability and explosively aggressive behavior of traumatized men as disorganized fragments of a shattered "fight or flight" response to overwhelming danger.

I am a citizen of this country,” I declare, “and Mr. Mayor, tonight I will be a citizen of this city when I put my shoes under my bed. The courageous men, women and children who are with me (blocked from crossing the bridge into NYC) are also citizens of this country and will be sleeping near their shoes too. I want them with me tonight, here, in the city of New York. We are all American citizens.” — Mother Jones

I am a Christian, but my time in Iraq has convinced me that God doesn't want to hear from me anymore. I've done things that He can never forgive. I've done them consciously. I've made decisions I must live with for years to come. I am not a victim. In each instance, I heard my conscience call for restraint, I told it to shut the fuck up and let me handle my business. All the sins I've committed, I've done with one objective: to keep my men alive.

I am always humbled when my countrymen thank me for having served in the military. It humbles me because the honor of having served them, is mine.